lynchings
a real and grisly threat
a public spectacle for whites
killed
the purpose of terrorizing Black communities
authorities covering it up
reason to think otherwise?
Source: John McWhorter, The New York Times, ‘Are Lynchings Really Happening?’, 24 Sept 2026
Three sisters wash up on the beach. Drowned.
But no foul play.
Five black women found by bodies of water. Dead.
But no foul play.
Ninety-five percent of black people have nothing to do with swimming.
But no foul play. Just conditioning and lies.
All bodies of water carry terror. Provoke fear from time.
So we are lead to believe as we are lead away from our sources of freedom.
From our bodily memories of being water folk. From time.
harbouring suspicions
‘modern-day lynchings’
sow terror in black communities
impossible to know what really happened
but local authorities are covering up
often good reason to think
otherwise
Source: John McWhorter, The New York Times, ‘Are Lynchings Really Happening?’, 24 Sept 2026
under the orange moon
they gathered, white hooded
orange flames licked the cross
they say he killed himself
the moment he looked at her
out of interest or just a momentary glance
no matter, he killed himself
the rope cut into his neck
the flames kicked his toes
by diamond sharp
Is it only Wednesday? What a week already and it’s only Wednesday.
Walking down the street, shooting the breeze and sun with June . I ask her, how come her words are so profound?
She nods and smiles.
It’s the living who keep the dead alive. It’s the living who keep the dead alive. They come alive when their words come through our mouths.
And on the other side Black girls are free – wherever/whatever that may be.
I wish I was on that Other side as this side sure is a lot to carry. A lot for one to carry. I moan. I whinge okay, girl’s got to let it out somehow.
Burdens, trauma, mournings and death are not supposed to be carried alone.
Sharing the pain, easing the pain. In community. I want me some of that.
Is it only Wednesday? My life, this week has been hard already and too much to bear alone.
after Ron Mueck
Here is a mass
of white upon white
skulls, tumbling
everywhere upon the galleries’ floor
a turning sea, resting
biting into another
black holes
shadowed sockets
promising questions without answers
a warning? a threat?
what remains long after our bodies have decayed
an impressive 100 skulls,
dwarfing visitors as they loom
here and here, cool, corridors
as catacombs above ground
forcing us to face our mortality, yes,
but also a certain care is needed in life for each other. Yes?
In the time it takes me to write this sentence,
my mum must have lost her capacity to breathe.
Quick and unexpected, her passing.
Here one day and then gone the next.
I’m keeping close to the bone as the wound is raw,
27 years later.
Up until now, there’s been a balance –
the years I had her with me versus the years without.
Loss constitutes a black mother’s life, but what about their daughters?
Mourning in the early morning, when the news found me,
sleepless and fearful, until this Autumn when I will have to learn
how to navigate this life beyond without.
Loss splits time into the before and after.
A rupture fires the heart, triggers
the already-always -thereness of loss,
the always-already-thereness of the ghosts
we carry with us into our many battles
and violent (work)spaces.
after Danez Smith
let this be the healing
the out of time and space
to flow back to the source
of love & care
let this be the honey to the wounds
the joy within the unknown
the hope to survive
in the mouth of the dragon*
let this be the refusal
the movement underground
to protect our vulnerabilities
let this be the healing
*a line from Audre Lorde’s ‘ The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action’ in Your Silence Will Not Protect You.
